


is it too late, to come on home?

by LittleLynn



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Chose your own ending: very happy l happy l bittersweet, Clone Wars era, Explicit Sexual Content, Forbidden Love, Force Ghost Qui-Gon Jinn, M/M, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Reverse Big Bang, coping mechachnisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:34:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26866741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLynn/pseuds/LittleLynn
Summary: Perhaps someone else might have recoiled, might have scrambled back, hit out with their hands and run away. But Obi-Wan looked up, into the spectre of a face he still knew better than his own, smiled sadly and laughed at himself as more tears fell. The spectre frowned at him, Obi-Wan’s mind perfectly conjuring the precise lines of Qui-Gon’s brow, the exact turn of his lips under that beard.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 19
Kudos: 76
Collections: Backwards QuiObi Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Q111](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Q111/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Q1's lovely artwork <3 I hope you enjoy the final product! 
> 
> Because I couldn't chose, and neither could Q1, this fic is chose your own ending, please head the notes at the bottom of the chapter when you get there, so you know what ending to read <3
> 
> Title shamelessly thieved from Long & Lost by Florence and the Machine

It was strange, the things that your mind focused on in terrible situations. There were a lot of things he should have been thinking about: Ahsoka was missing, Anakin was growing more and more reckless trying to find her while Obi-Wan was trapped on the other side of the galaxy; the war was only getting worse; Dooku and Grievous were both still on the loose; he had 576 men directly in his charge; and the senate was taking more and more control over the jedi order every day. 

There were a lot of things in his immediate life to worry about. Instead he was thinking about his master. 

Truthfully, barely a day had passed him by in the last long decade without him thinking of Qui-Gon. At first it had been almost a plague, a constant thought and longing that he couldn’t calm as their so suddenly sheared off bond ached for its other half. It was a wound that hadn’t healed properly, had festered inside of him, unable to mourn the way his soul needed. 

Because how could he have shown the true extent of his grief without the council discovering what they had worked so hard to conceal for three years. Perhaps under different circumstances Obi-Wan would have let it be known, would have left the order just to have been granted the mourning he needed, but there had been Anakin to consider, and Obi-Wan couldn’t leave him to the lacking empathy of the council. 

So he had pretended, had built up a facade around him and carried on somehow, one step at a time. Now Anakin was a grown man - just about - and Obi-Wan’s life was so filled with devastation that he could hardly bear to think about it, so instead of thinking of his current losses, his mind turned him back to the greatest loss of his life. 

Easier because the hollowness in his chest was a familiar companion by now; harder because that loss was incomparable. 

He wondered what Qui-Gon would do in his situation; follow his orders and stay where he was or chase after Anakin, help him to find his lost padawan. But it was difficult to know, because he knew in his heart that Qui-Gon would never have agreed to this war in the first place. He would have left the order, he would have cradled Obi-Wan’s face in his arms and asked him to come too, they could leave this place, this war and the order that was betraying it’s own ideals more and more every day, they could be open in their love and be happy. 

Obi-Wan didn’t know what he would have said to that, his sense of duty was too great, and even now he felt as though he owed the jedi something, and that democracy and the republic was something that he wanted to protect. But sometimes Obi-Wan liked to run away in a fantasy that both comforted and made him ache for a life that would never be his own. 

He imagined Qui-Gon alive, imagined saying yes to the plea to leave that he knew would have come, imagined what might have come next. A house on an idyllic planet - no, a farm, Qui-Gon would have liked that, filled with animals and plants and crops to tend - close enough to a town that they could get what they needed, but private, removed and just for them. 

The calluses on their hands from their sabers would fade, and in their place new ones would form from their daily tasks, from honest good work that demanded neither of their lives. Qui-Gon would take in every stray he found until they were tripping over pets and Obi-Wan would grouch and scowl and mean none of it, chasing the kisses Qui-Gon would place to smooth out his brow.

Qui-Gon would cook because Obi-Wan was hopeless, and all their meals would be made from the fresh produce Qui-Gon would grow, always so good with anything from the earth, but Obi-Wan would find little things to make their house a home; all of the things they were never allowed to keep as jedi. Obi-Wan would make their clothes, from soft materials, he’d patch the holes Qui-Gon always wore out, so physical in everything he did, and his own clothes would grow dusty in the dresser, as he wore Qui-Gon’s instead. 

They would get to enjoy each other, love each other openly, without fear of consequence, every touch wouldn’t need to be hidden or tinged with melancholy. In the scant years they’d had together as something more than master and padawan, they had learned each other’s bodies intimately, he could remember even now every dip and contour of Qui-Gon’s body, every swell of muscle and the curve of his neck, where he liked to rest his head whenever they wouldn’t be seen.

There was privacy for jedi, sometimes, they hadn’t only lived off stolen touches, averted eyes and muffled moans. Their quarters were private, the more civilised of their missions usually offered them private rooms, and missions out into the wilds gave their miles and miles of privacy, safety for Qui-gon to see just how loud he could make him. On the little farm they would never have Obi-Wan imagined their bed; big to accommodate Qui-Gon’s ridiculous legs, never made properly, mussed up blankets and too many pillows and so so warm. 

Obi-Wan felt like he had been in space for years now, it was always cold in space. 

Escaping to the farm he conjured was a double edge knife though, everything they could have had if Obi-Wan had been quicker in that corridor. It was a beautiful place to escape to for a few moments, but when he was forced back to reality, it made him yearn for Qui-Gon so deeply it winded him, even after all these years. 

He wanted to go after Anakin, but Anakin wasn’t his apprentice anymore. If he took his men they would lose this front for sure; if he abandoned them, the 212th would take heavier losses. He had to stay, but it didn’t make it any easier. 

He let the farm drift away from him and started taking off his armour with tired hands. It was late, but he could maybe get a few hours before the bridge commed him or they took fire again, and he would find a way for it to be enough. He looked to his ‘fresher longingly, but was fairly sure he would fall asleep in the stall and concuss himself if he tried, so instead he sat on the edge of his bed. 

He had intended to pull of his boots and continue to undress for some rest, but instead Obi-Wan buried his face in his hands and let out a handful of quiet sobs. The farm wasn’t real, Qui-Gon was dead, he couldn’t go to Anakin, and more clones and jedi would die tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. On and on. 

He wanted to curl up in his master’s arms, seek the only thing that had ever truly comforted him, he wanted it so desperately that he shivered and shook and knew no amount of blankets would make that go away.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had been touched; had he hugged Anakin the last time he saw him? Obi-Wan couldn’t remember, and the hollowness inside him gained some ground against the rest of him, a moment of weakness inside himself. 

Qui-Gon had been so intune with the way he needed touch, made up for every moment he had to keep his hands to himself with gentle touches in private. If Qui-Gon were here, there would be a warm body next to him, an arm around his shoulders, coaxing him into tucking his face into Qui-Gon’s neck. There would be lips on the crown of his head and a hand in his hair. 

“Master,” Obi-Wan said, surprised by the wretched state of his own voice, he concealed what he was feeling from the world so fully, that he wondered if somewhere along the way, he’d begun concealing the extent of it from himself as well. “Qui-Gon,” he pleaded with nothing. 

He wrapped his arms around himself, a poor substitute for the arms he craved, and hugged himself tightly, as if he had ever learned how to self soothe. 

“I miss you,” he whispered, it was rare he allowed himself to do such a thing out loud, giving the thoughts too much power. He was crying, he couldn’t remember the last time he had let himself - not that he seemed to have that much power over it in that moment - and he watched the droplets of water fall to his tunics with something akin to fascination. 

He thought he was going mad when he felt the ghost of a touch against his chin, almost fingers, and heard a familiar, lost voice speak. 

“Oh my love, no more tears.” The voice said, so gentle and deep, a voice Obi-Wan could never forget, but that he had only heard in his dreams for ten years. 

Perhaps someone else might have recoiled, might have scrambled back, hit out with their hands and run away. But Obi-Wan looked up, into the spectre of a face he still knew better than his own, smiled sadly and laughed at himself as more tears fell. The spectre frowned at him, Obi-Wan’s mind perfectly conjuring the precise lines of Qui-Gon’s brow, the exact turn of his lips under that beard. 

“I did not expect you to laugh.”

“And why should I not? When I have finally gone mad,” Obi-Wan smiled through his tears, wondering if this was torment or comfort, double edged just like his memories and his dreams. 

Qui-Gon’s face turned sad, and Obi-Wan didn’t like that, he wanted to reach out and smooth his hand over his cheek until he smiled again, but he balled his hands in his lap, there was nothing to touch and he knew it, trying might only chase the delusion away faster than he wanted. 

“You’re not mad Obi-Wan, it’s me. I’m here,” Qui-Gon said. 

“Impossible,” Obi-Wan smiled, his tears were cold, space was cold. His master had always been warm but the ghost in front of him was cold too, he wished that his broken mind could have given him the warmth he craved. 

“How can I convince you, my love?” Qui-Gon asked as he brought a translucent blue hand to Obi-Wan’s cheek. Obi-Wan was wary, not wanting him to vanish with the undeniability of touch, but he gasped as he felt something against his face, like a gentle autumn breeze, or a caress of the force. He wondered how deeply he had fractured, to think that he could feel his master again as his eyes fluttered shut under the faint touch. 

“You can’t,” he said, with another sad smile. “But it is alright, you don’t have to comfort me.This is nicer than being sane, I think.” He added, but when he opened his eyes, Qui-Gon looked stricken, his handsome face wracked with concern and regret. “I am sorry, I’ve managed to let you down again, even though you’re not here.”

“Obi-Wan, little one, you  _ never _ let me down,” Qui-Gon said, the old pet name his master had for him making his smile wider and his tears fall faster. 

“You would say that,” he said, wiping at his tears when they threatened to blur the illusion in front of him. The symptom of a broken mind or not, Obi-Wan would still look at him while he could. 

“May I sit with you?”

“You can do whatever you wish, Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan replied, watching him closely but as if in a daze as he came to sit beside him. He sighed when a spectral arm he could barely feel came around him, he couldn’t lean into his warmth, because there was nothing solid enough to support him, and no warmth to be found, but he let his head hover at the illusion’s neck and he felt his tears dry up, replaced with a bone deep melancholy he had carried for years. “I wish you were real.”

“I am.”

“You died, you are with the force now, and I am glad one of us has peace as a companion. Besides, even if it were possible, what would be the chances that the day you would appear would be one of the rare nights I allow myself to feel how deeply I miss you. I have to keep it trapped inside me, so that it doesn’t weigh me down more devastatingly than the gravity of Riken.”

“I am with the force, I am no delusion formed from your grief, there was an ancient technique among jedi that allowed them to use the force to manifest after their death. Ever since I died I have striven to learn it, unable to bear the thought of leaving you alone here, but it was hard and I had no instruction, I am so sorry it took me so long to be here, little one, I will never forgive myself for it. 

“It is because you called out to me that I was finally able to manifest, to make the final step that I’ve struggled with for years. I am drawn to you Obi-Wan, as I have always been,” Qui-gon said, and a part of Obi-Wan wavered, but he knew that he only wanted to believe it, it was too good to be true, more of a kindness than life ever saw fit to pay him, and he wouldn’t be foolish enough to believe it, no matter how badly he wanted to. 

This moment of weakness, of attempting to sink into the arms of someone who simply could not be there was fine for a night, in privacy and a rare moment of quiet, a rare moment of mourning. But it couldn’t follow him into the cold light of the next day, and he had to remind himself not to get lost. 

“I miss you,” Obi-Wan murmured quietly, wondering when his mind had become so imaginative in the ways Qui-Gon might return to him. At least it was different to the dark thoughts that had plagued Obi-Wan in those first few weeks, a way he knew they could have been together again, forever. 

“You still don’t believe me,” Qui-Gon replied, voice quiet and soft and sure, like it had always been, his hair felt like there was a breeze running through it, as Qui-Gon’s ghostly fingers moved through it. 

“This is nice,” Obi-Wan said instead of a real reply. “It’s okay.”

“Nothing about this is okay,” Qui-Gon said, and he was moving away and Obi-Wan couldn’t help his sad little sound as the ghostly contact moved, more touch than he had had in months; and wasn’t that pathetic. 

“Come back,” Obi-Wan said, reaching out for the man that wasn’t there. Qui-Gon caught his hands as best they could, as if they were trapped in a cool wind, and crouched until they were at eye level. Obi-Wan wondered if his mind was exaggerating how big his master was, because of how safe he had always felt in those arms, 

“I want you to focus on me, little one,” Qui-Gon said, his tone firm like it had always turned when they were in peril and it was vital Obi-Wan did exactly as he was asked. 

“Okay,” Obi-Wan said, because he always obeyed when his master spoke like that, it hurt to discover that after a decade, the instinct was still intact. Qui-Gon wasn’t really there, so Obi-Wan simply focused on his memories, on the soft moments he and Qui-Gon had shared. 

“No Obi-Wan, don’t think of the past, reach out to me now,” Qui-Gon said, a brief, fleeting pressure on his hands that was gone before he could really acknowledge it. 

He was wary about trying to reach out, he wasn’t sure how to do it without a physical presence in the force to find, an no bond to reach down. 

“Let yourself miss me,” Qui-Gon said softly, answering the question Obi-Wan hadn’t even voiced. 

He didn’t want to, this Qui-Gon’s presence alone was already burning a hole in his heart, he didn’t want to think about how badly he missed the real thing. But he didn’t want to let any version of Qui-Gon down, so he did it anyway, let himself feel just a sliver of his own yearning. There was a pause where Obi-wan’s sadness felt almost audible, and then he gasped, and finally recoiled, ripping his hands from that ghostly grasp and backing himself further onto the bed, trapping himself in the corner as he looked at the spectre with wild eyes. 

Qui-Gon looked back with a steady, sad gaze, an apology written over his face. 

Obi-Wan was clutching at his chest, couldn’t catch his breath. The bond with his master that had been cut so viciously all those years ago had pulsed, flashed with life, connected with something it had lost so long ago. It had been so unexpected, so visceral, that it had hurt, and now the dormant -  _ dead _ , he had thought - bond inside him was struggling and thrashing like it hadn’t since the first hours after Qui-Gn’s death. 

“Qui...Qui-Gon?” Obi-Wan said, his voice so small he could barely hear it, but there was no way, no other way it was possible for his bond to have felt that tug, unless it really was Qui-Gon in front of him somehow. He was pressed into the corner of the bed, in a corner against the wall, his knees drawn up to his chin, he felt smaller and more scared than he had when his thirteenth birthday had passed him by. 

“It’s me little one,” Qui-Gon said and Obi-Wan believed him, believed the lines on his face and the slightly scruffy beard. 

“Master,” Obi-Wan whimpered and he scrambled forward. 

He reached for Qui-Gon desperately rushing forward, crawling over the bed, he needed to feel him again, he needed - 

“Obi-Wan wait - ”

Qui-Gon tried to catch his mistake, tried to catch  _ him _ , but he wasn’t solid enough, and instead of finding the comforting embrace of Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan fell through him to the floor, collapsing onto it. He rested his fists against the floor, new tears formed as pain wracked through him, none of it caused by his collision with the floor. 

“Little one I’m so sorry.” Qui-Gon knelt in front of him, his voice sad again, his hands were almost touching Obi-Wan, but they had no more substance than the wind. 

“I can’t feel you,” Obi-Wan said, his lip was trembling, he wished he could say something to make his master smile, to be able to see the way those eyes crinkled when he did once again. 

“Not yet, I’m sorry, perhaps I should have waited until I was stronger,” Qui-Gon said regretfully, he was trying to wipe the fresh tears from Obi-Wan’s face, but it was futile. 

“No. No I - This is...this is more than I ever thought I could have again,” Obi-Wan said, wiping his own tears and rearranging himself, sitting with his back pressed against the bed, his knees pulled up to his chest, his eyes unable to settle between looking at Qui-Gon’s face, and the ghostly hand on his knee, as if he could will himself to feel something solid. 

“I heard you, the longing in your signature, I’ve been trying to get to you for years. Sometimes, on the bad days, you would say that you would give anything to see me again.”

“I meant it,” Obi-Wan sighed, he tried to rest his hand on top of Qui-Gon’s, letting it hover just above that translucent form. He offered QUi-Gon a smile, weak from his tears and roiling emotions, but honest nonetheless. “I suppose we never did very well at the ‘no-attachments’ part.”

“No, I suppose we didn’t,” Qui-Gon said, winning Obi-Wan a smile, he wanted to trace the crowsfeet with his fingertips like he used to, wanted to sink his hands into that long hair. 

A pause stretched out between them, neither saying anything, just looking, not quite believing what they were seeing. He wondered for a small moment, if he had died, and Qui-Gon had come to help him pass over, but he was sure it would feel different to this. 

“You said not yet,” Obi-Wan said, quietly, as if the moment were breakable; or perhaps it was the nearly forgein feeling of hope in his chest that was so breakable. “Does that...does that mean you are here for longer than one night.”

“Oh little one,” Qui-Gon’s face went impossible soft, as it had sometimes when they’d been alone, when Obi-Wan had struggled with the duplicity they were having to live under. “Yes. I do not know how long I can keep this manifestation up, but it grows easier with time, I will always come back, and gradually, I will be able to stay for longer.”

“And...touch me?” Obi-Wan asked, the little ball of hope in his chest growing tentatively larger. 

“Yes my love, eventually I should have able to achieve brief moments of solidity, or, something mimicking it anyway.”

“I’ve missed being held by you,” Obi-Wan admitted, the constant longing for the embrace of his master that had faded over time had become gnawing and desperate again, now that he knew that one day he might be able to have it again, just not quite yet. 

“Wanting to have you in my arms again has been my constant companion, to be so close but not yet able is agony,” Qui-Gon replied in that low, gentle voice of his. 

Obi-Wan wiped another tear away, but he was smiling, could feel happiness seeping out into his bones, chasing away some of the weariness that had set in and refused to let go. 

Qui-Gon moved to sit next to him, the ghost of his presence comforting even if it was cold, Obi-Wan reached for his duvet, wrapped it around himself and leaned into the feeling. 

It was hours before he faded, promising to return as soon as he was able. Obi-Wan hadn’t managed to get any sleep, not wanting to waste a second of this gift, no matter how Qui-Gon had tried to coax him, but he felt more revitalised than he had in years. 

\----------

“You work too hard,” Qui-Gon murmured, and Obi-Wan worked hard to keep his face straight, to look down at his datapad and not react, so that his troops didn’t think he’d gone completely mad. He heard Qui-Gon’s chuckle, feeling his struggle through their reawakened bond. 

The reason for it was twofold; firstly nulls in the force couldn’t perceive Qui-Gon at all, which meant that none of Obi-Wan’s men would be able to see who he was reacting to, and they were more observant than anyone gave them credit for. And secondly, he feared that if news of Qui-Gon’s reemergence were to reach the council, they might ask why, what had pulled him back here, and Obi-Wan was not in the mood to deal with prying questions nor the judgement if they figured them out. He was too busy to deal with such a distraction from the council, too important to his men to be pulled away. 

It was the fourth time Qui-Gon had managed to appear to him, and Obi-Wan was sure he would never get used to it, the electric thrill that ran through him, the warmth that spread in his chest. 

“I like Anakin’s padawan,” Qui-Gon then added, walking beside Obi-Wan, knowing he couldn’t respond with words but able to feel loud and clear the happiness spreading out through Obi-Wan. 

He had asked Qui-Gon what he should do, about Anakin and Ahsoka, and his master had been wise as he always had been, and Obi-Wan had requested another jedi take over command of his men for a while, while Obi-Wan chased after his wayward old padawan and possibly even more wayward grand-padawan. 

Obi-Wan had said he was too young to have a grand-padawan, and Qui-Gon had grinned at him and agreed, before teasing him for the baby face hidden under his beard.

“And you raised him well.”

“Not as well as you could have,” Obi-Wan murmured under his breath, just out of earshot of any of his men, he felt a faint, ghostly touch squeeze his hand. 

“None of that,” he chided gently, spectral fingers dancing among Obi-Wan’s own, warmer every time Qui-Gon appeared. “You raised him well, and I am proud of you.”

Obi-wan blushed at the praise, the way it comforted him after so many long years without it. As a jedi master he knew he shouldn’t need praise, shouldn’t need comfort; and he didn’t, he had been functioning perfectly passably before Qui-Gon had returned to him and filled his universe back up with light. He cleared his throat and looked up from his datapad to the bridge of his ship, the men working diligently. 

“Cody you have the bridge, I will be in my quarters, comm me if you need anything,” Obi-Wan said, attempting to appear natural as he turned to head towards privacy. 

“Yes general,” Cody replied assuming a more commanding position. 

Qui-Gon didn’t like the war, he hadn’t needed to say anything for Obi-Wan to know, the frown he had levelled at the clones had spoken enough, the fact that he never spoke of the jedi at large anymore. Obi-Wan hoped that he never started the conversation, he felt guilty for letting his master down, but knew that he couldn’t leave now, if he ever could have refused in the first place. They shouldn’t be being used as soldiers and generals, no one should be turning a blind eye to the thousands of clone lives that were being thrown away every day, ignoring the immortality of it all, they shouldn’t be subject to the instructions of politicians. 

But it was the only way he could protect democracy, protect the republic, and he promised himself he would atone for it later, would get the order to change its ways, would fix the things that were broken and rotting. 

The door to his quarters slid shut behind him and Obi-Wan finally allowed himself to look up at Qui-Gon, the beam that he had been holding back finally spreading out across his face at the sight of him. 

“I missed you,” Obi-Wan said, it had been three days, nothing compared to the decade that came before, but every second had seemed like an age. 

“I have something to show you,” Qui-Gon said, his face filling with mischief, the bond humming between them, purring like a contented kitten in the sunlight.

“Oh?” Obi-Wan asked, excitement filling him, wondering what on earth a spirit might be able to bring him. 

“Close your eyes,” Qui-Gon instructed and Obi-Wan did as he was bid easily. 

He gasped when something warm and  _ solid _ pressed against his cheek, familiar fingers and a palm large enough to cup half of his face, bristling against his beard and pushing fingers into his hairline. His own hand flew up to cover Qui-Gon’s, his eyes flying open to find Qui-Gon’s face filled with mirth and joy. 

“I can feel you,” Obi-Wan couldn’t help but say, and Qui-Gon nodded, his thumb brushing under Obi-Wan’s eye and smoothing away the elated tear that had fallen. 

“You’re so warm, little one, I never forgot how well your face fit in my hand,” Qui-Gon replied, voice impossible soft. 

Obi-Wan nuzzled into the touch, realising in that moment just how starved of touch he had become since the war began - longer, since Qui-Gon had died - wanting more with an animal hunger, wanting to be enveloped by those arms. But then the hand faded, replaced with that now-familiar ghostly presence in the force, and Obi-Wan’s own hand fell briefly to his cheek, before he lowered it back to his side, and smiled up at Qui-Gon. 

“I am sorry, I should be able to hold it for longer as time passes.”

“Don’t apologise,” Obi-Wan shook his head, his cheek still felt warm, he felt more alive than he had in years. “We shall simply have to practice.”

“Practice?” Qui-Gon asked, raising an eyebrow as another smile played at his lips. 

“Well yes, I expect a kiss before the week is out.” 

Qui-Gon’s laughter filled up the space and Obi-Wan’s heart skipped a beat. 

\----------

“You look so tired little one, can I not convince you to rest?” Qui-Gon asked as he appeared beside him. Something loosened in his chest to have Qui-Gon back beside him, but the day had been a hard one, and it weighed heavily. 

“I need to get this report to the council,” Obi-Wan sighed, there was no way around it, and he continued to type, trying to numb himself to the words he was writing. 

“You feel sad, what happened?” Qui-Gon asked, a hand stroking through his hair, flitting between real, corporeal fingers and ghostly faint ones as he practiced keeping his form for longer. 

“Adi was killed,” Obi-Wan replied, a lump rising in his throat as he said the words but forcing himself not to cry. 

“Adi,” Qui-Gon sighed, and he shut his eyes, perched in the seat opposite Obi-Wan. 

“I’m sorry, I know she was your friend.”

“Shh Obi-Wan, let me concentrate,” Qui-Gon replied with a soft voice, and then a solid hands reached out and took one of Obi-Wan’s. “Yes, there she is. She is one with the force, she is at peace, my love.”

“Does she...doesn she blame me? I should have gotten to her sooner, if I had been able to keep my serenity I would have been able to defeat Maul sooner and get to her, I’m, I just, I just can’t even look at him without seeing what he did to you, the rage I feel is  _ dangerous _ and it cost her her life.”

“Oh little one,” Qui-Gon said, coming around the table and embracing Obi-Wan with flickering arms, if he was careful, he could tuck his head into Qui-Gon’s neck, where he had always felt safest, and feel short spurts of warmth. “It was not your fault. She does not blame you and you have no grounds to blame yourself.”

“I just, I saw him and I couldn’t contain myself. He took you away, I thought I had killed him but he survived while you died? It isn’t fair. He took the farm from us,” Obi-Wan said, crying again, he wondered what it was about his master’s presence that made him so much more prone to crying, when he had kept it together through a decade or unimaginable pain barely shedding any. 

It was the safety, he realised, of his master’s arms. 

“What farm little one?” Qui-Gon asked, fingers stroking through his hair, and Obi-Wan realised what he had said, that for all of their connection Qui-Gon couldn’t read his mind. 

“Oh. It is embarrassing, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Tell me anyway,” Qui-Gon encouraged, moving them over to the bed and encouraging Obi-Wan to lean against him when he could. 

“I...It feels silly now. But I used to find comfort in a fantasy, before you returned to me. That you lived and when the war had started we had left the order, and moved to a small farm on a bountiful planet. You would grow vegetables and take in strays, I would visit the market and make our clothes, and it would be simple, and we would be together and happy, and away from the cold emptiness of space. Away from danger and duty and death.”

“That is beautiful Obi-Wan. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“I still think about it sometimes,” Obi-Wan admitted as Qui-Gon’s form slipped away, sitting up a little and waiting for it to return. “It hurts as much as it helps, but I like to go there anyway, on the bad days.”

“You could leave this war, Obi-Wan. I know you feel you must stay, but I hate to see you like this, you can spare a thought for yourself, you have given enough,” Qui-Gon said, Obi-Wan didn’t look up to see his expression, feeling himself tense, he didn’t want to have this conversation, especially not today, when he barely felt like his head was above water. 

“I can’t, please don’t. I - ” Obi-Wan shook his head, not knowing how to continue that sentence, and a gentle, firm hand returned to him, tucked him back into a body that had resolidified in the force. 

“Tell me more about the farm,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan felt tightness around his chest release. “What sort of animals do we have?”

“All sorts, knowing you,” Obi-Wan replied, looking up now as the chest under his palm rumbled with a laugh, his heart swelling that he had the chance to feel that again, a sensation that should have been lost to him. “You’d take in every stray you could find. And whatever the planet’s equivalent of sheep, I think primarily.”

“You think I’m a sheep herder,” Qui-Gon laughed, shaking his head. 

“I think you have a way of getting those less able to protect themselves to follow you, and I think that you do a wonderful job of keeping them safe.”

“Do I now?”

“Well, you always kept me safe. Mostly.”

“Mostly,” Qui-Gon tsked and rolled his eyes. “You made it into adulthood in one piece, what more do you want from me?” He teased, pressing a kiss to the crown of Obi-Wan’s head. 

“Hmm, well, it would be nice if that mission to Raxilvan hadn’t ended with me almost wed to the planet’s very forward queen. That was awkward, and humiliating.”

“That cannot be considered  _ my _ fault, it was your own for being so perfectly charming,” Qui-Gon argued, amusement lacing every word, affection burning so brightly between them Qui-Gon was practically glowing in the darkened room. 

“You were the one who told me to distract her! And you were the one who told  _ her _ I was...what was your wording? Oh! I remember,  _ most predisposed towards her _ ,” Obi-Wan said, feeling the laughter bubbling up in his chest, letting it fill him up. 

“I will admit that in hindsight that was a poor choice of words, but you knew what I meant.”

“She didn’t.”

“Well, true. But I find it hard to regret, considering how lovely you looked embarrassed and blushing in that wedding outfit you’d been stuffed into,” Qui-Gon grinned, and Obi-Wan squirmed at the memory. 

“They really weren’t worried about decent coverings on that planet,” Obi-Wan muttered, remembering vividly his younger self trying desperately to  _ at least _ keep his ass and privates covered with the tiny whip of fabric he’d been unwillingly dressed in. 

“Merely different cultures Obi-Wan, I thought I taught you to embrace them,” Qui-Gon teased, and Obi-Wan remembered how his master had drank in the sight of him, covered in more oil and shimmer than clothes. 

“You say that now, but I clearly remember some barely concealed jealousy when you found me,” Obi-Wan reminded him, his master had been so attractive in that moment, almost unbearably so, he had half expected to be thrown over a shoulder and carried away, if he didn’t just claim Obi-Wan right there, for everyone to see. But his master had too much control for that, and had kept his cool, fixing the miscommunication with minimal offence to the queen. 

“True enough, although I particularly enjoyed you in their ‘indecent coverings’ when we got back to the ship,” Qui-Gon said and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but giggle into his neck. “What else about the farm?” Qui-Gon asked, squeezing Obi-Wan’s shoulder after a few moments just lying together, and Obi-Wan knew that he genuinely wanted to know, perhaps the farm that they didn’t have would be a comfort to him as well. 

So Obi-Wan told him everything he had ever thought about, and felt something longing inside him stir up anew when Qui-Gon added his own touches, details to the interior, the low beam he always bumped his head on, the front door that Obi-Wan repainted every tenday, the fish pond at the bottom of the garden. 

“It is a lovely place, I will go there with you, whenever you like, all we have to do is shut our eyes,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan smiled up at him, reaching up until his hand was just tangling in Qui-Gon’s long hair, cupping the side of his head. Qui-Gon brought his own hand up, solid for now, and cupped the back of his head, drew him close and pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan’s forehead, the scratch of his beard the best thing Obi-Wan had ever felt. 

\----------

Obi-Wan would never take Qui-Gon’s presence for granted, but he had grown used to it. Qui-Gon was around now more than he wasn’t, could hold his form long enough to hold Obi-Wan like he needed, to kiss him when he wanted, hold his hand when he was with his men but needed discreet comfort. 

Obi-Wan didn’t know how he had ever lived without it. 

Qui-Gon never appeared to him when he was fighting, knowing he could cause a distraction that could prove devastating, and he never appeared when other jedi were near, knowing that they would also be able to see him, neither of them wanting the questions that invited. But in this moment, Obi-Wan had pause, he was on one of his rare visits to the temple readying himself to be sent out on a more dangerous mission with Anakin, as they often were and he felt like he was lying to Anakin. 

He had never been faced with this dilemma. Anakin was his brother, his best friend, the only thing getting him through the war before Qui-Gon had reappeared to him. Obi-Wan lied and omitted to the council with far more ease than he had ten years ago, they felt no disturbance in the force, didn’t sense his reawakened bond to his master; even yoda couldn’t sense Qui-Gon. But then Anakin had spoken on their walk back to the apartments, and it had been so much harder. 

“You seem much happier these days, Obi-Wan. I don’t know what it is, but I’m glad,” Anakin smiled, one of his moments of softness, growing rarer and rarer the longer the war went on. The longer other things Obi-Wan pretended not to know about went on as well. 

“I...thank you Anakin, it’s, ah, a new blend of tea, Alderanni, lovely,” Obi-Wan replied, feeling queasier and more deplorable than he had the first time he had ever told a lie to conceal his relationship with Qui-Gon to master Yoda himself. 

“Only you could get that happy about tea,” Anakin laughed, rolling his eyes before pretending to be nonchalant. “I’m going out this evening with some, uh, friends, but why don’t we have breakfast tomorrow, catch up before everything to hectic to have a conversation?”

“That sounds nice Anakin, I look forward to it,” Obi-Wan replied honestly. 

“Great, try not to spend all evening shut up by yourself in that room, you need to get out more master!” He added with a cheeky grin as he scampered away and Obi-Wan smiled through his guilt.

He knew Anakin was going to Padmé, just like Anakin didn’t know he was going back to Qui-Gon, not an empty room. He knew the lying was weighing on Anakin as well, something he wouldn’t feel he could tell Padmé, for fear she would blame herself. It had been hard when he and Qui-Gon had had to lie, but at least they were together always, Anakin spent more of his time on the other side of the galaxy. 

He was halfway through cooking himself some dinner, the pans feeling heavier than usual, when Qui-Gon appeared beside him, a light kiss pressed to his cheek wiping away some of his worry. 

“I’m not sure how, but you’ve burnt the pasta,” Qui-Gon said, sounding impossibly charmed. 

“This is why you cook at the farm,” Obi-Wan pointed out, looking away from his hopeless pan to silently request and receive a peck to his lips. 

“Clearly. You could have gone to Dex’s, I know you miss it,” Qui-Gon said, pushing the single jar of spices Obi-Wan owned towards him and encouraging him to use a little. 

“I would rather be here with you,” Obi-Wan replied simply, transferring his underwhelming dinner from pan to plate, and sitting beside his unmatchable company. 

“I would be here when you got back, little one,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan shrugged, taking a bite and noting that the spices Qui-Gon had had him include improved it immeasurably. Obi-Wan shrugged, and Qui-Gon smiled, sitting down beside him and letting a spectral arm rest on the back of his chair. “Something is weighing on you?” 

“How can you tell?”

“I can always tell,” Qui-Gon said, leaning forward and kissing the corner of his mouth. “You have a little sauce, right there. Is it bad that I’m glad I can’t taste it?” Qui-Gon said and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and tried to shove him, only to go straight through him and hit the back of the chair, making Qui-Gon laugh. 

“Shush you,” he grumbled playfully, taking another bite and pretending it was delicious. He could barely taste it around his happiness anyway. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” Qui-Gon asked, gentle as he always was these days. Obi-Wan’s gentle giant. He sighed, pushing his food around the plate. 

“Anakin is...entangled with Padmé, he’s in love with her, I’m sure of it. I think they may be married,” Obi-Wan said, and was surprised, perhaps a little comforted, when Qui-Gon smiled at the news. 

“With the way he trailed her around when we found him, I’m hardly surprised - for his part at least,” Qui-Gon chuckled, before sobering. “You don’t seem happy about it though?”

“I’m worried about him. I’m sad that he didn’t feel like he could be honest with me, but why should he be when I was never honest with him? And I can tell the lying is bothering him, on some level at least. When his mother died it...unsettled him, it worries me that he has no one to talk to, should he become concerned about Padmé.”

“Neither did you, when I died,” Qui-Gon pointed out, sounding far guiltier than he should have. Obi-Wan reached for his hand and drew it into his lap, relieved when he found it corporeal. 

“No, but I never had to conceal anything from my master. He might be fine, he might reconcile himself with it, find an equilibrium, and Padmé is young and healthy, but this is a war, and people have attempted to assassinate her more than once,” Obi-Wan replied, glad when a silence spread out between them and a pensive expression came over Qui-Gon’s face, knowing it meant he was thinking about this seriously. 

“Why don’t you tell him the truth,” Qui-Gon suggested gently, carefully. Obi-Wan didn’t blame him, as a padawan, the two times Qui-Gon had suggested not keeping their affair a secret Obi-Wan had spooked; Qui-Gon was grey enough to leave the order, but Obi-Wan was still wrapped up in his life long desire to be a jedi, and naively believed he could have both. How different things might have been if he had said yes, they might be on their farm right now. He tried not to dwell, and Qui-Gon continued. “If he knows that you also had an...attachment, then he will have someone to talk to, you will not have to worry about him destroying himself in silence.”

“I want to tell him you’re here now. But I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“Why?”

“Because the more people know the more likely it is to get out, back to the council.”

“Perhaps they will be glad I have relearned such an ancient technique,” Qui-Gon mused, clearly not believing it, he had never agreed with the council and never given them the benefit of the doubt in his life. 

“Seems likely.”

“Would you like my advice, little one?”

“Please,” Obi-Wan sighed, tilting his head into the hand that was playing with his hair, where his braid used to be.

“Tell him, you will feel lighter, he will feel like he is not alone, that he has someone to come to with his fears. I know you remember when our relationship evolved, you were so convinced we were both doomed to the dark.”

“I was only you who convinced me otherwise.”

“Yes, Anakin does not have that, Padmé is not a jedi, and he must have not told anyone, to keep them both safe,” Qui-Gon reasoned, and Obi-Wan sighed again, taking another bite of his dinner while he thought. 

“I think you’re right,” he agreed, he would tell Anakin, when they had a little privacy. 

“Well, I am a wise old master,” Qui-Gon grinned, and Obi-Wan slapped his shoulder playfully. 

“Are you a wise old master who can hold his form long enough to finally kiss me properly?” Obi-Wan asked, an eyebrow raised in challenge, he knew Qui-Gon had been working on it tirelessly.

“There is only one way to find out,” Qui-Gon replied, and Obi-Wan’s lips were claimed in a warm, deep kiss.

\----------

Obi-Wan was tense, so tense he felt like his shoulders were up around his ears. The reports were piling up around his ears, the 212th was supposed to be getting some down time before being redeployed, but it seemed that generals were not included in that, because Obi-wan had been inundated with briefings and debriefings and reports and inventories since they had arrived. 

They only had two days of r&r left and Obi-Wan had at least four days of work in front of him. He wasn’t sure what made him want to tear his hair out more; that the council had sent it to him at all or that he felt obligated to complete it. 

That he wasn’t going to finish it was stressing him out - there was no way, even if he didn’t sleep at all - and the fact that he was going to try anyway and not get any sleep on his brief vacation from the war. 

“Obi-Wan,” a familiar, deep voice beckoned him. Obi-Wan felt relaxed just by his sudden presence, but he was going to distract him, and he had more work to do than he had time to complete already. 

“I’m sorry Qui. I love you and I’m glad you’re here, but I’m so busy,” Obi-Wan said, hating every word out of his own mouth and feeling him ramping his own tension up.

“You’re supposed to be relaxing,” Qui-Gon replied, and Obi-Wan didn’t have to turn and look to know he was frowning. 

“Yes well, a general doesn’t get to relax, it seems,” Obi-Wan muttered, annoyed at his own growing irritation, Qui-Gon didn’t deserve his misplaced frustration, but there was nowhere else for it to go, finding it hard to release it into the force when he was so tense. 

“You promised me you would get some rest. You promised Anakin as well,” Qui-Gon said, disapproval in his voice that made Obi-Wan’s guts squirm but didn’t change the situation. 

“I thought I would be able to, but the circumstances have changed,” Obi-Wan replied, really no one had hoped he would be able to relax more than he had, he certainly didn’t need a lecture, he was upset enough as it was. 

“Love you’re going to make yourself ill, you  _ need _ to rest,” Qui-Gon said, moving around to the desk, his ghostly hands hovering over all the datapads. “You’ll never get all this one, it’s a week’s worth of work.”

“ _ Exactly _ .”

“If you aren’t going to finish it anyway then you might as well get some rest.”

“No I need to get as much done as possible,” Obi-Wan replied. He was so exhausted he could barely read, but so keyed up knowing he didn’t have time that he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep even if he tried, so what was the point, he might as well work, it was all he was good for anyway. But then - 

“Little one,” Qui-Gon’s voice was firmer, and Obi-Wan’s breath caught when two strong -  _ solid _ \- hands rested on his shoulders, meeting at the base of his neck, and squeezed the knotted muscles there. “Are you going to take care of yourself, or do you need my help?”

Obi-Wan gripped the datapad in his hands so tightly he was surprised it didn’t snap, and he couldn’t control the pleading whimper that slipped past his lips. 

“Help me,” he said, almost a whisper, voice frantic, he felt like he was falling apart at the seams, but Qui-Gon had always known how to calm him when he got like this. 

“Okay, close your eyes for me, little one,” Qui-Gon asked, his voice soft but wonderfully firm, and Obi-Wan did as he was asked, even though ceasing to work to close his eyes was unthinkable to him just moments ago. 

The darkness was a balm, giving Obi-Wan some relief from the headache he had been stoically ignoring, but he was still rigid and tense, exhausted but unable to sleep and needing help. Qui-Gon’s hands squeezed him again, and then strong thumbs were pressing into the base of Obi-Wan’s neck, the gnarled knot of stress that had gathered there. 

Obi-Wan gasped, the pressure hurting for a few moments before it started to release. He remembered Qui-Gon’s massages, how much they helped him, how good his master was at them, how much he enjoyed feeling those large hands over his body. 

“You need to take care of yourself, I know you find it hard sometimes, you carry so much responsibility, little one. But it’s okay, I’m going to look after you now, all you have to do is as you are told, understand?”

“Yes master,” Obi-Wan whispered, relief running through him at the same time that discomfort flared back up and made him bite down on a cry of pain as his master worked harder at the knot at the base of his neck again. 

“Good. Now we don’t have as long as I would have liked,” Qui-Gon said, talking about how long he could hold his form and Obi-Wan whimpered, he liked it when Qui-Gon would spend hours taking him apart, he wanted to have that again. “Hush, none of that now, because I do have plenty of time to make you relax.”

Obi-Wan did as he was told and quieted, sinking into the feeling of Qui-Gon working the knots out of his neck; Qui-Gon had liked doing this after missions, spreading Obi-Wan out on his bed and working his muscles over until he was pliant and soft beneath him. He didn’t realise how badly his neck had started to seize until Qui-Gon loosened it back up for him, and with a whimper, Obi-Wan reached out with the force and pulled from the ‘fresher cabinet a bottle of bacta oil, not as nice as proper massage oil, but it would help. 

“Thank you,” Qui-Gon praised when it came to rest on the desk, tugging off Obi-wan’s shirt and picked up the bottle. “I think this would be better on your bed, don’t you?” 

Obi-Wan chewed his lip, looking guiltily at the datapad somehow still clutched in his hand, at all the others still strewn out on the desk; there was no way the council expected him to complete it all, but wasn’t it his duty to do as much as possible. A massage at his chair might have loosened him up to make him able to continue working, but if he moved to the bed…

His train of thought was cut off when Qui-Gon gripped the back of his neck more firmly, thick fingers digging into the skin there and making him gasp, skin back into the touch. 

“Yes!” Obi-Wan squeaked. “Yes better on the bed,” he agreed, so easy suddenly, the datapad slipping from his fingers, hands falling to the side and the exhaustion he had been holding at bay flooded into him and he felt weak down to his bones. 

“Would you like me to carry you, little one?” Qui-Gon asked, voice soft again. 

“Can you?” Obi-Wan asked, wondering if Qui-Gon had mastered his manifestation to that extent yet, but his question was answered as Qui-Gon chuckled, and two arms made from solidified force energy slipped under him. “Oh,” Obi-wan sighed, sinking into the hold, remembering all at once how much he had liked being carried by Qui-Gon. 

“You still don’t weight much, you need to eat more,” Qui-Gon chided him gently, Obi-Wan hummed in agreement, because it was easier, not because he was suddenly going to have proper time for proper meals, but it was difficult to worry about, when Qui-Gon was laying him out on his bed. “Lovely.”

Qui-Gon undressed him with careful hands, working off his boots and helping him lift his hips so that he could slide his pants and underwear down and off, leaving Obi-Wan bare and blushing on the bed. Qui-Gon gave him one of his indulgent smiles and a kiss to his lips before he pulled back to hungrily take in Obi-Wan’s body, his cock already getting hard, after so long neglected.

“You were always so eager, I think you might have missed me,” Qui-Gon teased, running a finger up Obi-Wan’s hardening cock and making him shiver and push into the touch. 

“And you,” Obi-Wan said, reaching out to tangle his fingers in the force of Qui-Gon’s clothes and tug at them almost shyly. He didn’t know how Qui-Gon’s clothes worked in this firm and translucent state of his, but his question was answered when Qui-Gon closed his eyes for a moment, and his clothes simply faded away into nothing. 

Obi-Wan’s breath caught for a second, his master just as handsome as he had always been, his eyes roaming over the body he’d never forgotten. His chest was defined, his hair falling loosely over his broad shoulders, his stomach running down into a v that drew Obi-Wan’s eye down to his big cock. He licked his lips unconsciously, remember how it had felt to be fucked by that cock, stretched open by something so thick and long. 

Qui-Gon let him look, let him reach out and wrap his hand around that cock, different in texture than he remembered, but hot and hardening in his hand, his own body trembling even as Qui-Gon removed his hands and kissed his knuckles. 

“That is for later, now is for you,” Qui-Gon said, putting his hand back beside him on the bed before turning his eyes back to Obi-Wan’s body, his cock now fully hard and flat against his belly. “Hard already, and wet too, such a shame I can’t taste you,” he hummed, running a finger through the first bead of precome. “Has is been a long time, little one?”

“There’s been no one but you,” Obi-Wan said, feeling no shame in his admission, especially from the fire it lit in Qui-Gon’s eyes, the possessive growl it added to his voice. 

“That’s because you’re mine, aren’t you?” He said with a rough voice, and Obi-Wan nodded quickly, whimpering when a large hand ran up his side and over his chest. “But right now I want you to relax, so I want you to ignore your needy cock.”

“Qui,” Obi-Wan whined, feeling now all of the years he had gone without, barely finding time to pleasure himself either, and when he did it was fast and businesslike; he needed this more than he needed sleep. 

“Hush, have I ever left you wanting?” Qui-Gon asked, voice firm, and Obi-Wan shook his head. “Then there is nothing to worry about, is there? Settle down for me, hands by your sides.”

Obi-Wan did as he was asked, taking a deep breath and trying to ignore the way his cock throbbed as he relaxed as much as he could. Qui-Gon’s hands were slick with the oil when they returned to his skin, rubbing soothingly over the muscles of his chest to warm his skin before Qui-Gon started his massage in earnest. 

Qui-Gon started at his shoulders and moved methodically down his body, working and wringing out every tight muscle - every muscle - in Obi-Wan’s front, paying special attention to Obi-Wan’s chest until he was moaning softly as his nipples red and peaked from attention. Every pass of his hands made his body relax but his cock throb more, drooling a continual dribble of precome from the tip and onto his belly. qui-Gon swiped his fingers through it and worked it into Obi-Wan’s skin in his massage, making him shiver with desire as he went otherwise neglected. 

Qui-Gon paid attention to his stomach, hips and thighs but ignored his cock except for one slick stroke that almost had Obi-Wan coming already. He chuckled at Obi-Wan’s neediness as he worked down Obi-Wan’s thighs, over his knees, shins and the tops of his feet until the only unrelaxed part of his front was his straining cock. 

Qui-Gon didn’t ask him to turn over, instead using his strong hands to manhandle Obi-Wan’s lax body onto his belly. Obi-Wan moaned as his cock found friction, rutted into the bedding a couple of times before a large hand on the small of his back stilled him. 

“Be good Obi-Wan, keep still for me. I don’t want to see any of your muscles tightening back up again after all my hard work,” Qui-Gon told him, and Obi-Wan forced himself to stop moving, no matter the temptation; the struggle worth it when Qui-Gon lavished him with praise. 

Qui-Gon ran his fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair first, pulling at the roots and making pleasure and comfort tingle down his spine before moving on to his shoulders and back, kneading his wound up muscles until they turned to putty under his hands. Qui-Gon worked over his ass, Obi-Wan’s pulse quickening at the more intimate touch before settling against when Qui-Gon kept to his cheeks until even his glutes were relaxed. 

He worked his way down Obi-wan’s legs, pressing his fingers into his hamstrings and calves until they were pilant under his ministrations before brushing his thumbs over the sensitive skin on the back of Obi-Wan’s knees. He worked over Obi-Wan’s feet until even his toes were relaxed and soothed, the feet he spent too much time on getting some well needed attention. 

When Qui-Gon put his leg back down to rest on the bed, Obi-Wan assumed it was over, and felt ready to fall asleep exactly as he was, but Qui-Gon worked his way back up his body and Obi-Wan whined helplessly, feeling unable to move his limbs after the massage, when Qui-Gon started rubbing between his cheeks, pressing his slick, clever fingers against Obi-Wan’s tight little hole. 

“Mmm, it has been a long time, hasn’t it. When was the last time you gave your hole the attention it needed?” Qui-Gon asked, voice gone so deep and low it felt as though it was pooling at the base of his spine. 

“I -I can’t remember,” Obi-Wan admitted, unable to get his muscles to cooperate and push back into Qui-Gon’s fingers. 

“I can tell, you’re as tight as you were the first night I took you,” Qui-Gon purred, Obi-Wan shivering as it sounded like praise. “Be still for me little one while I help you relax here too.”

Obi-Wan gasped as Qui-Gon continued to massage him, warm slick fingers rubbing at his rim until it started to relax, and he could press the tip of one of his fingers inside. The sensation made Obi-wan whine, somewhere between what it had felt like to have his Qui-Gon finger his hole when he was living, and when Qui-Gon would press inside him with tendrils of the force. 

He felt himself slowly open around the welcome intrusion, it had been a long time but his body and soul still knew how much it wanted Qui-Gon, and he was so pliant from his massage that the one part of his body that was still tight was following his other muscles easily. Qui-Gon pressed the finger deep, used the force and the bacta slick and his of movements to work Obi-Wan open, so tight at first but gradually going lax. 

He whined as Qui-Gon’s second finger pressed inside of his hole, reminding him how good it could feel to be opened in this way, scissored so languidly on Qui-Gon’s fingers, as if he really were simply massaging the muscle into a more relaxed state, rather than working Obi-Wan open for his cock. Qui-Gon avoided his prostate, Obi-Wan having no doubt that his master remembered where it was, but grateful, knowing he could come easily from that particular massage, and wanting to wait until Qui-Gon’s cock was back inside him. 

Qui-Gon praised him as he took a third finger, half asleep on the bed, drowsy with exhaustion and relaxation and gentle pleasure, eyes mostly closed but kept awake by his hard cock, his body's desperation to feel Qui-Gon intimately again. 

“You’re taking my fingers so well, little one, opening around me just like you always did. You’re tired I know, but I know what you need, how to turn your beautiful mind off and help you sleep,” Qui-Gon murmured to him, stroking his fingers inside of him and petting his back. “It’s not going to take you long when I’m back inside you, is it, but that’s okay, I’ve missed you too, I can’t wait to feel you around my cock again, tight and perfect.”

Obi-Wan moaned softly as the words continued, a strong hand on his hip now stopping him from rocking into the bedding, and he was grateful for it, too tired to control himself, but wanting to be controlled, to not have to worry.

He barely noticed the fourth finger enter him, his body so relaxed and pliant, melted into the bedding and unable to move a muscle as Qui-Gon used deep waves of the force to keep his entire body pliant, half drooling onto the pillow. But when Qui-Gon finally pulled his fingers free, Obi-Wan could feel how slack he was, how his hole was gaping, and he shivered as Qui-Gon pressed his thumb against his hole and made a pleased noise. 

Obi-Wan gasped as Qui-Gon leant over his body, enveloping in his firm body and pulsing force signature, one of Qui-Gon’s arms sneaking under Obi-Wan’s arm, the other steadying his cock. 

“Is this how you’d like it, little one?” Qui-Gon asked, the thick head of his cock pressing up against Obi-Wan’s loose hole. “You always liked this position, didn’t you, the way I could cover you, how deep I could get inside you.”

“Y-yes,” Obi-Wan whimpered, voice hitching as Qui-Gon put a teasing amount of pressure on his hole. “Please Qui. Need you,” Obi-Wan slurred. 

“Anything you want my love,” Qui-Gon promised, pressing a kiss to Obi-Wan’s cheek as he finally pressed his cock into Obi-Wan’s pliant body. 

His body tried to tense at the pleasure, but he couldn’t, crying out breathlessly as Qui-Gon sheathed himself in his hole in one smooth movement. He stilled then, Obi-wan adjusting to the lost feeling and almost crying with the relief of feeling it again, Qui-Gon filling him up and holding him close, possessively blanketing his body, his chin hooked over Obi-Wan’s shoulder, pressing kisses to the side of his face. Obi-Wan turned, the angle hard but making content sounds when Qui-Gon indulged him and kissed the corner of his mouth as best he could anway. 

Qui-Gon moved his hips in a small, deep circle, not so much fucking Obi-Wan as he was grinding his cock inside of him, as far as it would reach, and Obi-Wan broke their desperate kiss to moan loudly as pleasure rolled through his lax body. Qui-Gon shifted them slightly, one of his arms getting between Obi-Wan’s chest and the bed, holding him closer as his pace quickened, Qui-Gon pulling out and slamming back in deep inside him, holding him so tightly he wasn’t pushed anywhere, just impaled deep on Qui-Gon’s cock. 

Qui-Gon shifted his hips and on the next thrust, his cock grazed over Obi-Wan’s prostate, pushing an exhausted wail out of him, his breath coming in tired pants as Qui-Gon started fucking into him in deep, fast thrusts, alternating between taking Obi-Wan hard and grinding his cock deep and against his prostate. Obi-wan’s cock was throbbing, trapped against the sheets and getting the barest friction as he shifted as Qui-Gon fucked into his hole. 

“‘M gunna, ah,  _ ah _ , please, ‘ui,” Obi-wan’s voice was completely slurred, but Qui-Gon already knew, fucked in deep, long strokes until Obi-Wan came with a shattered moan, his cock spurting come against his stomach and the sheets. 

Qui-Gon growled, holding him tighter for a few moments and fucking him harder, wringing every shock of his orgasm out beofre a wave of pure force energy crashed into Obi-Wan as Qui-Gon came, feeling something fill him and a sudden, second orgasm wash through him, triggered by Qui-Gon’s climax alone. 

He felt ready to pass out with bliss and fatigue, his body so relaxed it felt like part of the bed and he felt so safe and loved and looked after as Qui-Gon stayed inside him as his cock softened, stayed wrapped around him so closely. 

“Go to sleep, little one. I’ll stay like this as long as I can,” Qui-Gon promised him, out of breath even though he didn’t breathe. 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, but tried not to sleep yet, fought against the pull of unconsciousness so that he didn’t miss a second of being wrapped up like this again. He was too loose, relaxed and tried to be aware of how much time had passed when the solid feeling of Qui-Gon faded into something more ghostly, the spend he had been able to feel inside of him disappearing as well. 

“Sleep my love, I’m still here,” Qui-Gon reassured, using the force to draw the blanket over Obi-Wan, what felt like a warm summer's breeze blowing over his shoulder as Qui-Gon’s kissed him there. 

\----------

“You can’t go on like this, little one,” Qui-Gon said with sad eyes, gathering Obi-Wan up in his warm embrace and pressing kisses to the top of his head. He backed them up to Obi-Wan’s bed, lifting Obi-Wan like he weighed nothing at all, and moved them until he was thoroughly tucked into Qui-Gon’s side, he could keep his form now for almost half an hour at a time. 

“It isn’t always like this,” Obi-Wan replied, his voice cracking with exhaustion, feeling vulnerable from fatigue, like he would cry the moment Qui-Gon’s strong arms weren’t holding him anymore. 

“It is. The circles under your eyes have circles of their own. You need to take care of yourself,” he replied, pleading, not accusing, and rocking Obi-Wan gently, beginning to lull him to sleep whether he intended it or not.

“It’s a war, I need to take care of my men.”

“You need to take care of your _ self _ ,” Qui-Gon replied. “Or there will be no one to take care of your men anymore. Don’t treat yourself like you’re disposable.”

“I know I’m not, it's half the problem,” Obi-Wan mumbled, there was no one who could do the things he was doing, it's why so much fell on his shoulders, why he was forced to do so much without any help, especially if Anakin was far away. 

“Don’t treat yourself like you’re unbreakable, then,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan could feel the hurt in his voice, his desperation to protect Obi-Wan, even though there was little he could do. 

He wanted to take better care of himself, but it didn’t change the reality of the situation, the reality of a war. Qui-Gon wanted him to leave it behind, Obi-Wan wanted that too, but he couldn’t, he wasn’t disposable, there was no one to replace him. He couldn't simply decide that he’d had enough. 

“Sing to me,” Obi-Wan said, feeling Qui-Gon’s surprise, and then his smile. 

“What would you like me to sing?”

“Bal’onara,” Obi-Wan replied, a song Qui-Gon had used to sing to him, back when he had been his padawan. Obi-wan didn’t understand every word of it, written in a language he didn’t know, but Qui-Gon had explained it to him once; it was about star crossed lovers, about fractured circumstances and impossible obstacles. It was about overcoming those things, and being together anyway. 

As a padawan it had always soothed him, Qui-Gon singing it whenever Obi-Wan worried about the council and their lives too much. Qui-Gon held him close again now, and this time Obi-Wan let his deep, beautiful baritone cascade over him and wipe away his fears about the war, his longing for Qui-Gon to be with him more physically, his anxiety about the future.

He was half asleep by the time the long ballad finished and Qui-Gon’s voice trailed off, kissing the top of his head, seconds from sleep when his comm sounded, the inoffensive noise feeling too harsh and loud in their quiet cocoon. 

“Ignore it,” Qui-Gon pleaded, holding Obi-Wan a little tighter. “You have to sleep.”

He should answer it, it could be urgent. 

“Okay,” he said, and fell asleep. 

He was chewed out by the council and by the senate a few hours later, they had been the only ship close enough to intercept a sepratist convoy carrying important weapons plans, it could have given them an edge in the war, but instead Obi-Wan had been sleeping in Qui-Gon’s arms, hadn’t answered the secure channel. 

Obi-Wan worked even harder, fuelled by guilt. Qui-Gon paced restlessly, and Obi-Wan felt guilty about that too, and vowed to stop it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ
> 
> The next three chapters are not supposed to be read one after another, or like normal chapters. This is a chose your own ending fic, the chapters are the different endings. Pick what you'd like to see, they are as follows: 
> 
> Rot your teeth happiness: Chapter 2  
> Normal happiness: Chapter 3  
> Bittersweet/angsty: Chapter 4
> 
> Proceed as you would prefer, I hope you enjoy your chosen ending <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The very happy ending option <3

Leaving the jedi had been easy, in the end. Had been as simple as telling the truth. 

The council had apologetic but hollow looks as he had told them he was exhausted, that he needed a rest, were so nice about telling him he had to continue on for the sake of the republic. It was all he needed to see to shake free all guilt about what he was about to do. 

They had held in their shock when Qui-Gon materialised beside him, they couldn’t hide then shock when his arm came around Obi-Wan’s shoulders and he kissed the crown of his head.

They had tried to get him to set free this attachment, to let Qui-Gon go, so desperate to keep him fighting their war, but not listening to the things he needed. Then Qui-Gon had stepped forward, had berated and scolded them all, virulently and with a passion he had always felt he needed to keep hidden in life. 

In the end, leaving had been easy, finding the farm was much harder, but find it they did. 

An agricultural planet called Serendris, filled with woodland and unpolluted, its people living in harmony with the land, instead of demolishing it. Their farm was set away from one of the woodland towns, surrounded by trees and just their own. The locals couldn’t see Qui-Gon, but they had a connection with the force - if not a sensitivity exactly - that seemed to assure them that someone was with him, that he wasn’t mad. 

The living force was so virulent on Serendris that Qui-Gon became stronger quickly, hold his form for longer periods of time and barely ever leave Obi-Wan’s side. He couldn’t pet the animals, because they couldn’t see him, so Obi-Wan did it for him, but he did manage to hit his head on a low beam more than once. 

The war finished quickly, a relief as it took any guilt Obi-Wan had felt away. Anakin had shared his fears about Padmé’s death with him and Qui-Gon, instead of keeping it to himself, and eventually Palpatine had revealed himself to Anakin, thinking him weak, isolated and easy to manipulate; he had been wrong. 

Anakin and Padmé visited occasionally, Anakin sighing out his exasperation as he was forced to act as proxy for his wife to speak with Qui-Gon, as she enjoyed doing, philosophical political debates that had never held much interest for his padawan. 

Qui-Gon cooked when he could, and took great pleasure in watching Obi-Wan eat, making him try new things and having Obi-Wan keep lists of what he had liked and what he hadn’t, and every day Qui-Gon seemed a little less ghostly. Obi-Wan put it down to a quirk of the planet as Qui-Gon lost his spectral visage, colour and opaqueness coming to his form, a form he was able to hold indefinitely now, it seemed. 

Neither of them even realised what had happened, impossible as it was, until Padmé and Anakin came to visit again, and the gift Padmé was carrying shattered on the floor, her eyes wide as she looked directly at Qui-Gon, whole and solid and somehow completely  _ alive _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the sappy fuck rules of the universe love wins ending <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The more realistic happy ending <3

“Are you sure?” Qui-Gon asked, holding him close and kissing his head, and Obi-Wan nodded. 

He put his hands against Qui-Gon’s spectral body and leant up for a proper kiss, before leaving Qui-Gon in the safe seclusion of his quarters and headed for the council chambers. 

It was almost surprising to him when they listened, took what he was saying seriously; that he was too tired, he couldn’t keep going like this, that he needed to rest. He appreciated their faith in him, but he wasn’t going to make it if they continued to work him so hard. 

The senate was harder to deal with, wanting to believe that the jedi were invulnerable to simple enemies like exhaustion and overwork, but with Mace and Yoda behind him, eventually they accepted that General Kenobi and the 212th needed more rest than they were being given. 

It was a weight off his shoulders, and life felt easier to bear again, especially when Qui-gon stopped pacing so frantically, tracing the dark circles under Obi-Wan’s eyes with gentle swipes of his thumbs as they faded more and more each day. 

The loneliness that had plagued Obi-Wan for so long lifted, and though Qui-Gon still had to conceal himself from the council, that too became easier when the war came to an end faster than any of them had anticipated. Palpatine revealed himself, thinking Anakin entirely alone, but he had shared all of his fears with Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, and he was not such an easy target. 

When peace resumed, the senate tried to keep their control over the jedi, but they pushed back hard, insistent that they would never be generals and warlords again, and yet more weight was taken from Obi-Wan’s shoulders. The debates over the clones were long and vicious, and Obi-Wan involved himself no matter how the council asked him not to, he and Padmé leading the fight to have each of them given a real identity, made citizens and released from service immediately, reparations paid for the military service they had had no choice but to give. 

They won, and Padmé continued the fight for tighter restrictions on cloning, her name beginning to be thrown around for the next chancellor, though she insisted she didn’t want it. Anakin began to talk to Obi-Wan seriously about whether his place was with the jedi, or with his wife, and Obi-Wan guided him as best he could, knowing Anakin would make the right choice in the end, but that he needed to get there himself. 

Things in Obi-Wan’s life felt more settled than they had since he and Qui-Gon had gone to Naboo. 

“Where have you been sent?” Qui-Gon asked as Obi-Wan bustled about getting ready for his next mission. 

“Kashyyyk, the Wookies need help rebuilding,” Obi-Wan explained, folding his extra cloak and packing it. 

“I like Kashyyyk,” Qui-Gon smiled, helping Obi-Wan fold his clothes. 

“I know, that’s why I volunteered to go there,” Obi-Wan replied, smiling as Qui-Gon kissed him thoroughly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this ending! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we'll call this ending; bittersweet at best...

Obi-Wan barely offered the council an explanation when he left the order, abruptly and before the war had ended, he saw little point, and they wouldn’t like what they’d heard. They would want proof, and Qui-Gon would end up fighting with them, and all Obi-Wan’s and his war weary bones wanted to do was leave quietly, and with as little fuss as possible, so that is what he did. 

Talleha was an outer rim world, one he and Qui-Gon had visited once when he was much younger, on a mission involving a rare ore, and a fight going on to claim it. The planet was peaceful now, and mostly left out of the war. They built a small farmhouse with their bare hands, and by the time the roof was in place, it felt more like home than anywhere else ever had. 

Pets were difficult because they couldn’t see Qui-Gon, which made interacting with them difficult for him, as they often spooked at the unperceived presence. But everything else was as Obi-Wan had imagined it might be, right down to the low beam Qui-Gon hit his head on, when he was more solid. 

Half an hour seemed to be the force’s limit for allowing Qui-Gon to become solid, and the more he did it, the less often he could appear, but they found an equilibrium, and Obi-Wan tried not to let his loneliness become to unbearable - or at least, too obvious to Qui-Gon - when he was gone. What was privacy when Qui-Gon was around, felt too much like isolation, when he was gone. 

But the locals already thought he was mad, catching him talking to someone they couldn’t see once too often, they called him crazy old Ben and kept their distance. He kept his distance and pretended it didn’t bother him, he had been a social creature all his life, but Qui-Gon was enough. 

Anakin was the only person he told about his departure and destination, not wanting to be the subject of gossip at the temple. He wrote to Bant and Quinlan occasionally, but always felt guilty when he ignored their questions over his location, their desire to see him; he doubted they would understand, it was better like this. 

Eventually, he regretted telling Anakin. 

“Obi-Wan, I know how you feel about him, but you’ve let everything else go for someone who isn’t really real anymore,” Anakin said, a worried crease between his brow, it was his sixth visit, Obi-Wan missed him deeply, but wished that he would stop. 

“He is more real to me than the ground under our feet,” Obi-wan replied, turning from the conversation and going to the kitchen. He should have gone further, his chest hurting when he overheard Anakin’s hushed, accusing voice coming from the living room. 

“You’re dead and now you’re stealing his life away too! He’s giving up everything for you, you had your life, you don’t get to have his as well. Get out of here!”

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan shouted, voice sharp from the doorway. “You can leave our house if you are going to be so callous and rude.”

“Obi-Wan please, look at yourself. You live here  _ alone _ , you know it when he’s gone, you can feel it, I know you can, but the truth is he is always gone. I’m sorry Obi-Wan but I’m worried for you, this isn’t healthy, you have to see it.”

“Leave,” Obi-Wan said, worried about the look dawning on Qui-Gon’s face, needing Anakin to stop talking before he broke the life he had scraped together. 

“No, please Obi-Wan,” he turned to Qui-Gon now. “He got over you once, it was hard, he felt sad for  _ years _ , but he got over you. Why did you have to come back, you’re making it worse.”

“No Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, quietly, forcing Anakin’s attention back to him. “I did not get over it. I stopped feeling sad to you because I realised you could feel it, and I went to pains to mask it. I didn’t realise until Qui-Gon returned to me, but I was barely alive, a facade of a life, and one I honestly didn’t even want to live. I got up every morning out of sheer habit. I am happy here, I am happy now. I feel whole.”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin said, uneasily. “He’s dead, and you act like he’s still alive. This isn’t a life.”

Eventually, Obi-Wan managed to make him leave, shutting the door to his and Qui-Gon’s bedroom and ignoring him until he left, Qui-Gon needed his attention anyway. Qui-Gon worried that Anakin was right, and Obi-Wan wondered if there was a way he could stop his visits completely, if this was the result. 

“Perhaps I should go, perhaps it would be best, I was to close to see, I - ”

“No!” Obi-Wan said, desperately, feeling bile rising in his throat and something icy around his chest creeping in, and he clung to Qui-Gon. “Please, don’t leave me. I won’t survive it Qui, not again. Anakin is wrong, this is a life, it’s my life, and I am happy and whole. I have more than I ever thought I would have. Do you want to leave? Please, I couldn’t bear it if - if, you - if -.” He was panicking, falling apart so quickly at the thought of Qui-Gon being gone from him again that it shocked him but he couldn’t stop it.

“Shh, I’m sorry Obi-Wan, I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want to leave, I couldn’t leave you,” Qui-gon reassured, quick to catch Obi-Wan’s growing panic in a tight embrace, dropping kisses into his hair. “I shouldn’t have said anything, I didn’t think. I want to be here, with you, always.”

“You won’t leave?”

“I will never leave you again my love, I promise,” Qui-Gon murmured, easing them down onto the bed and holding Obi-Wan. Not for as long as he needed, but for as long as he was able.

He had never imagined the farm to be cold, the opposite, even, but Talleha’s winds were cold, and when Qui-Gon’s presence faded away for the night, Obi-Wan shivered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why would you pick this one you masochists!! But i hope you enjoyed it (or the angst equivalent) all the same <3


End file.
